


Of Curls and Cuddles

by novasilvertongue



Series: Of Curls and Cuddles [1]
Category: Bob Dylan (Musician), George Harrison (Musician), The Travelling Wilburys (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Hallelujah, Humor, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, Stealing shirts, amen, bob dylan is adorable, bob dylan's hair is a blessing, bob is smol, breaking into your friend's house, cat analogies, george is tol, maybe too tol, objects in mirror are closer than they appear, so is George, soft bois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 02:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16823305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novasilvertongue/pseuds/novasilvertongue
Summary: In which Bob is sleepy, George tries to be grumpy, but can't because hey this is Bob Dylan we're talking about.





	Of Curls and Cuddles

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Heading For The Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15842526) by [mothi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothi/pseuds/mothi). 



> Pure fluff ladies and gentlemen

George bounds up the steps of Bob’s house, a grin fixed firmly in place, and hammers on the door like it’s personally offended him.

“Bob! Open the door! It’s George.” Silence. Hmm, he continues.

“George Harrison! Although I don’t suppose you know any other Georges do you? Well you probably do actually, George is a pretty common name.” He stops to think a moment.

“Although I don’t suppose any of your other Georges have such a distinguished-like and fine accent do they?” More silence.

George doesn’t let this trouble him and instead walks over to the side of the house and peeks through a window. It seems rather small. George moves on to the next one which is a nice size, large enough for him to easily fit through. And also it’s locked. He sighs and moves back to the tiny one.

He glances back towards the truck which is barely visible from his angle and sees Tom, Jeff, and Roy having an animated discussion, complete with extravagant hand gestures and flipping of the hair (from Tom). (Jeff tried but all he could do was get it to bounce a bit). George peers through the window again but can’t make much out except for a large blurry shape that seems to be a curtain. 

Unlatching the window takes a several tries, considering it’s pretty rusty and he can finally see that it’s the bathroom he’s chosen to break into, and the curtain is a shower curtain that’s bone dry, as if Bob has decided that showering is for daft gits. He wedges his head in, then one shoulder and calls for Bob again. Still no answer. His bedroom must be on the other side of the house then. George pushes forward a bit more, and tries to shift himself to get at an angle where he can pop his other shoulder in. He succeeds, with his feet kicking the air behind him, both completely off the ground. Belatedly, he realizes how ridiculous he must look, and wished he had stayed and attempted to break the door open instead. He sighs, and pushes forward again, his shirt getting wrinkled from all the stretching it’s doing. He supposed his shirt has to get some exercise, although is stretching an exercise or a warm up? He shakes his head to dislodge that thought before he can get into an argument with inner George who seems to be very grumpy, and continues what he’s doing.

Five minutes and a lot of quite creative insults about the window later, though none about Bob because Bob is his best friend, his light of his life, and of course it isn’t his fault at all that he’s stuck in a window like a dog with its head stuck in a banister while wriggling around like a wet cat, he decides to pull out and find an axe, or at least a large plank of wood and smash it through Bob’s front door. However, when he goes to do just that, after realizing an axe or sharp plank probably wouldn’t be around and he should use a log as a battering ram instead, although it would probably be less effective, he realizes that his belt is blocking the way back, and the only way to go now is forwards. So he continues onwards in his valiant struggle of breaking into Bob’s house. Although a burglar probably wouldn’t choose the bathroom window, and they’re friends, so he’s not technically a burglar is he?

Ten minutes later and some much more creative insults about the window AND Bob (but not his hair because he loves his hair), he finally gets to the easy point, where his hips are all the way in and all he has to do is slide forward. Which turns out to be not so easy, because bathroom windows are actually fairly high, and apparently the floor is farther than it appears, because when he comes tumbling out of the window into the shower stall, he has to grab onto something so he doesn’t faceplant. That something happens to be the faucet which sprays icy cold water at him until he fumbles enough to turn it off, making an undignified sound that he will forever deny if anyone every brings it up, and sorely regretting his cat in water analogy.

He finally picks himself up, and is grateful that his shirt has taken most of the impact. Before the water can drip into his jeans, he strips it off, and almost decides to leave in on the bathroom floor out of spite. He sighs, and hangs it up like the excellent friend, who would never force someone to break into his house, and would instead answer the door like a civilized person, he is. He steps out into the hallway, and tries the first door, fairly certain that Bob isn’t there considering all the noise he made, he must have woken him up if he was nearby. Surprise! He’s wrong. Bob is there under a mountain of blankets and pillows, with his hair mussed up around his head adorably, looking like a sleeping kitten. His lower half is completely submerged, but George can see that he’s wearing an oversized sleep shirt.

All the annoyance at his friend (although there wasn’t much to begin with) instantly drains out of him and he finds himself smiling softly at the figure in front of him. He pads softly over to the lump and shakes. Leaning down he whispers, “Bob. Wake up sleeping beauty, it’s George.” 

The lump makes no attempt to move, but grumbles. Quicker than he can see, a hand reaches out from the depths of the mountain for him and yanks him down so he tumbles into the pile.

“Bob,” says George, pleasantly surprised that his friend is being so cuddly, “as much as I enjoy this, we’ve got to get up.” Bob seemingly doesn’t know how to articulate words yet this early in the morning, and reaches out to pull George closer into the warmth. He nuzzles his chest and his hair is tickling his chest in a way that isn’t really unpleasant, because it’s so very soft, and George finds himself running his hand through it. Bob purrs like a contented cat (and he really must stop with all these cat analogies.)

Also, he was apparently he was wrong about Bob not being able to speak yet, as he mumbles, “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” 

“I got it wet when I accidently turned on the faucet in your shower while crawling and falling through your bathroom window.” Bob apparently deems this worthy enough to open one eye, then the other for. George smiles widely. Bob blinks blearily. George thinks he looks adorably perplexed.

“Say what again?”

“I crawled through your bathroom window, which is really high up. No wonder it was so difficult to unlatch. You aren’t tall enough to reach it!”

“Hey!” Bob grumbles, looking slightly more awake. George is about to call the mission a success when Bob seems to make a decision, closes his eyes, cuddles right up so his head is squishing George’s lungs and falls right back to sleep. George groans, his chest rumbling, and realizes that may have been a bad idea because Bob looks even more peacefully asleep now, and he may not have the heart to wake him up. Ah well, he supposes he’ll have to live with being a heartless swine. He detaches himself from the tangle of long thin limbs and floofy hair that is Bob, gets up and starts pulling away blankets and pillows, but Bob latches onto one and refuses to let go. Ah well.

“Say mate, can I borrow a shirt?” Bob mutters indistinctly which George takes to mean yes. He rummages through his closet and finds a similar looking one and shrugs it on. Then he pulls some others out of his closet and throws them at Bob. 

“Get dressed Bobby my boy, we’re going on a road trip!” Of course Bob doesn’t move, even when George pokes and prods at him, so George unbuttons the top button of his shirt and when Bob doesn’t protest, unbuttons them all and pulls it off. The only thing he does is shiver and hug the pillow closer. He redresses him in a white tee and black shirt and starts on the pants. Which are a lot more difficult to get on. Then he nags. 

“Bob! Bobby! Robert! Bobert! Bobby Bobby Bob Bob! It’s time to get up! Greet the brand new day with a smile on your face Bobby.” Bob just mumbles something that does not sound very nice. Rude. George, like the mature adult he is, sticks his tongue out at him, even though Bob can’t see him, his face buried under another pillow he had somehow, mysteriously reclaimed while George’s back was turned for two seconds. He sighs (which he seems to be doing a lot of lately) and wraps one of Bob’s arms around his neck so he can pick him up bridal style. Bob makes a sound of annoyance at the indignity of the position, but doesn’t make any move to break free and instead nuzzles the material of George’s (Bob’s?) shirt.

Blearily, he says “You’re wearing my shirt.” and drops off again.

“A very astute observation Bob, I’ll have you know that I’m very proud of you.” George nods firmly as he continues walking slowly down the hall towards the front door. He continues talking for the lack of better things to do.

“Tom and Jeff and Roy are already waiting in the truck Bob, this is going to be so much fun, did you know, I’ve spent quite a while planning this trip. Well no, not really that long of a time, to be honest it was--” He’s cut off when Bob wriggles out of his arms and falls gracelessly to the floor with a deceptively loud thud for someone who’s as small as Bob is.

“The others are here?” he rasps, making no move to get up.

“Yes, Bob, that’s what I said, now are you going to get up or will I have to carry you again?” George swears he can see pink coloring Bob’s cheeks, although Bob never blushes so he must be mistaken. He’s shaken off that train of thought when Bob pushes himself to his feet and says drily as if nothing has happened, “I think I can manage on my own.”


End file.
